


I needed you to notice

by threeplusfire



Series: Bad Things Come In Threes [16]
Category: Hat Films - Fandom, The Yogscast
Genre: BDSM, Blow Jobs, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Found Family, M/M, Multi, Service Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 14:41:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4395815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threeplusfire/pseuds/threeplusfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The saga of the Garbage Court continues as they strengthen alliances old and new. Sips learns more about how to take care of his court through home cooked meals and BDSM.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I needed you to notice

**Author's Note:**

> This is sort of a companion piece to Reins. I wanted to show the very different ways Trott handles Smith and Ross, and more of how Sips realizes he must step up to the plate for his court. 
> 
> Many thanks to my early readers for all their encouragement - Leon, Eirwyn and Bee. Your comments are always hilarious, thoughtful and helpful.

Glass fell soundlessly down the face of the building, following the echo of the broken window. It glittered when it touched the lights, crashing into the street to shatter into fine pieces. Ross’ tail dug into the stone work, gouging a scar in the cornice where he clung to the edge of the roof. The vandalism felt petty but he couldn’t seem to stop. The bitter taste in the back of his throat didn’t go away, so he leaned forward until he could swing the bat down into another window. The crash of it was sharp and sweet.

Ross smashed out all the glass along the top floor of the building, before crawling down to sit in a busted window. The sill crunched under his weight, splinters of glass falling inside. He wasn’t interested in going in, or pilfering whatever was there. He would have brought Smith if that’s what he wanted. Broken windows were just meant to be a sign, a little bit of a fuck you thrown out there to the city, the angry words he couldn’t say. The creeping decay of the city, the violence, the unchecked vandalism. He almost wished someone would come along to challenge him, to try to stop him. He swung the bat, tapping the building and waiting for something to happen. The night hummed, still and mostly quiet except for the faint sounds of a city in the darkest hours. He didn’t even hear the expected sounds of sirens, or an alarm. If there was anyone watching, they knew better than to get in his way.

Driving his tail deep into the wood of the window frame, Ross climbed out to start smashing the windows of the next floor down. He worked his way down the front of the building, destroying each window with a grim determination. Ross dropped to the sidewalk to knock out the final few windows, even the narrow panes around the entrance. His fingers curled tightly around the bat, and he slammed it fruitlessly into the heavy door with a loud thud. The wooden bat snapped long before he did any serious damage to the door.

Early in the morning, everyone who worked at the building gathered in puzzled crowds on the sidewalk, examining the caution tape and heaps of broken glass swept up by men in drab janitor’s uniforms. Mutters about vandalism around the city circulated in hushed voices as a police office leaned on a parked car to write his report. Another officer stared up at the building’s facade, counting windows. A broken bat was wrapped in an evidence bag on the sidewalk.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was only a small park, barely even a full block. The low fence was more for show than to keep anyone in, or out. Ross perched, high up in a tree that stood near the street. People often didn’t think to look up. He could sit there unobserved, watching the neighborhood for hours at a time. Early morning joggers with reflective tape on their clothes and headphones in their ears, running down the sidewalks as the sun rose. Parents with their children, wandering the little paths, or playing on the tiny swing set beside the grassy lawn. People cut through under the trees, carrying groceries or cups of coffee from the little place that had just opened down the street. Over the past few weeks, he’d gotten accustomed to the routines of the place. Ross liked a bit of routine, the comfort of seeing familiar faces even if he didn’t know them.

Early in the morning while the light still slanted through the leaves, Ross watched Xephos step across the street and walk down the block on his way to work. He walked briskly, and never lingered on the benches or stopped to wander into the grass. He was there for only a moment, striding down the sidewalk, and then he was gone.

Lingering, Ross always hoped Xephos would come back. Perhaps he’d forgotten something at home. Or perhaps he could sense Ross there, waiting. Ross couldn’t bring himself to call out, or to reveal himself. The crowds on the sidewalk thinned out and the sounds of morning traffic died down. Once again Ross felt the disappointed sense of loneliness, of missed opportunity. After a fruitless half hour, he slipped out of the tree to walk home, barefoot and tired.

 

* * *

In front of the bedroom’s floor to ceiling window, Ross stretched out on his stomach. He stared out at the horizon, the line of the river just visible without lifting his head. For most of the day he dozed, half watching the shift of the light and the aimless patterns of clouds. He didn’t notice Trott pausing to watch him, or when Trott came back from whatever he was doing to sit on the floor beside him.

Trott’s heart ached a little at the expression on Ross’ face, all yearning and restless melancholy. He stroked a hand over Ross’ head, feeling him stir from his spot. The afternoon sunlight gleamed, one of the first bright days after weeks of clouds.

“Were you up all night again?” Trott finally asked.

“Yeah,” Ross said, his voice gravelly and low. He stretched, trying to wake himself up.

“Did it help?”

“Not really,” admitted Ross.

“You know, I didn't just buy things for Smith,” Trott said, his hand sliding down the line of Ross’ back.

“Hmm?”  Ross blinked, slow and thoughtful.

“Come with me, sunshine. We’ve got to sort you out.”

In his office bedroom, Trott dug through a bag of brand new bondage gear. It was all special ordered, stuff from the enormous catalogs one of their suppliers dropped off a couple weeks back. Ross crawled onto the bed and sprawled on this stomach. He waved his tail lazily, letting it curl back round over his shoulders. He rested his chin on his folded arms, watching Trott with curiosity.

“What’cha guys doing?” Sips asked, leaning against the door jamb. Trott looked up and gave Sips a speculative look. They were all avoiding work today, it seemed. Smith was long gone, out the door to spend the day down at the river talking to the fae living there. Warmer weather brought them out, and Smith was currently fascinated with the nereids of the city. He’d thought Sips was out somewhere as well, bowling or something with the last few human friends he seemed to keep.

“You wanted to know what Ross needed, the other day,” Trott said, pausing in his search. “Might be easier to show you, if you want to see.”

Sips raised his eyebrows and sauntered into the room.

“Hey, cupcake,” he said casually, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Hey.” Ross looped his tail back to bat carefully at Sips with it. Sips grabbed the ring with one hand to hold it still.

“How are you doing?”

Ross shrugged, unsure how to answer. At the foot of the bed, Trott finally found what he was looking for and held it up.

“Stand up, Ross.” Trott gestured as he unfastened the buckles of the harness. Ross uncoiled his tail from Sips, and rose from the bed, already unbuttoning his jeans. He shucked his clothes with practiced ease.

Ross took the leather harness from Trott. He slid the shoulder loops over his arms, and waited patiently as Trott adjusted the buckles so the straps rested flat against him. Trott tugged on the wide leather strap between his shoulders. The black stood out against his skin, the chromed rivets reflecting the light. Ross tried to glance in the mirror over the desk, to see how it looked. It held his shoulders up and back, preventing him from slouching too far to keep the straps comfortably aligned.

“I like this,” Trott mused. “Maybe we can order one in a color for you, see if someone does this in red.”

“It’s good,” Ross agreed, relaxing into Trott’s hands on his skin. He caught Sips’ eye in the mirror. Sips gave him a thumbs up.

“Turn round for me,” Trott directed, pushing Ross’ shoulder. He moved easily, and Sips marveled at that. It had taken a beating and a half to make Smith anywhere near so pliant. But Ross easily gave himself over to Trott’s direction without even the usual arguing.

“What is that?” Sips watched as Trott slid the chrome ring over Ross’ cock and settled it snugly against his skin. The metal clinked against the glass.

“Security,” Trott said, looking up at Ross. “A reminder.” Ross smiled just slightly, leaning into Trott’s touch.  

“Yeah, okay.” Sips frowned, a crease between his brows. “But really, what is that for?”

“It’s a harness more than a chastity belt, but I suppose it could do double duty with a few more pieces,” explained Trott as he buckled the straps at Ross’ hips. “Comfortable?”

“Yeah,” Ross nodded. He twisted his tail around, trying hard not to twitch it too obviously or tangle it around Trott’s legs. The leather was soft, warm against his skin.

“Hands on the bed.” Trott gestured, reaching back into the bag for the lube. He put one hand on the small of Ross’ back as he bent down, nudging Ross’ legs further apart. Sips raised an eyebrow over Ross’ back, a question plain on his face. Trott just smiled as he reached between Ross’ legs for the dangling leather strap. He let his his wrist brush the inside of Ross’ thigh, high up in that spot where he liked to be touched. Trott gave the attached plug a quick coating of lube.

Ross hissed, a soft little sound as Trott worked it inside him slowly. On the bed, Sips leaned forward and ran a hand through Ross’ hair. He watched the shift of Ross’ shoulders, the way his back arched. One of Trott’s hands was splayed over his hip, holding him still. Ross rubbed his face against the blanket as Trott pushed it in and out slowly, getting him used to the feeling. Sips soothed him with a hand on the back of his neck, absently thinking about how beautiful Ross managed to look no matter what he was doing.

“There you are,” Trott said, sounding quite pleased. He fastened the last buckles of the harness at Ross’ back. Finding a harness with a large O-ring at the rear was a lucky break. He’d cut it out at work, and replaced it with a ring that he could snap open and closed. Finding hardware that accommodated a rather long tail was always tricky. There was a lot of money in it though, for people who wanted it. At least half the business was oriented more towards the fae these days and very few of them had anatomy that entirely matched up to human.

“You need another horse, why are we strapping Ross up?” Sips joked. “Not that he isn’t pretty like this.”

“It settles him, to have something on him. Or in him, rather.” Trott glanced up at Sips, who was still petting Ross.

“Well, something up the ass is a pretty constant reminder.” Sips shrugged. He wasn’t sure he really understood yet, what exactly was going on with the two of them. It was definitely less edgy and rough than playing with Smith though.

“Alright, clothes.” Trott gave Ross a little slap on the ass. “We’re going for groceries, you want to come along?”

“Sure,” Sips agreed. He was a little surprised they were going out now, rather than tying Ross to the bed or something. But Sips could roll with whatever it was they were up to now. He looked Trott over, at the plaid shirt tucked casually into his jeans, and his riding boots. “Nice boots. Where’s your pony?”

“Smith’s roaming, and these are a lot more comfortable than you think,” Trott laughed. “Besides, I feel good in them.”

“I’m not judging.” Sips raised his hands. “Wear whatever you want, Trott.”

“I like them,” Ross said, pulling his blue shirt over his head. With the hoodie on top of it, the outline of the harness wasn’t noticeable. He smiled beatifically, an expression that gladdened Trott. It was far removed from the irritable, glum face he’d worn for weeks.

* * *

Part of the neighborhood gentrification was the big brick warehouse transforming from a derelict space to a tightly packed warren of tiny shops and a bustling farmer’s market on the weekend. It was warm, almost too hot after the chilly spring air. Voices echoed off the brick, up into the high ceilings. Even mid afternoon during a weekday, there were plenty of people shopping and wandering. Several small snack shops had recently opened alongside the stores, serving one or two fresh dishes from tiny counters, everything from ramen to lobster rolls to green smoothies. Mismatched tables were tucked into the odd corner or along the hallways. Someone had hung a series of photos of the river, small snapshots of the water at different times of day.

The Chelsea Market was one of Ross’ favorite places. Every store was small and specialized. A tiny cheese shop, a place that sold nothing but vinegars, a meat market stall, a chocolate shop with little truffles, and another that had freshly baked pies. There was a little corner place that sold nothing but freshly made pasta -  thin ribbons, little corkscrews, and tiny raviolis. Ross was very fond of the little bread shop, always full of buttery, crusty fresh bread.

They wandered from shop to shop, Sips eating every sample he came across. Ross had a bag slung over one shoulder. Trott let his hand rest on Ross’ back as they stood there, considering the piles of early spring vegetables. Sips reappeared at their side with a couple bottles of wine. Trott held out a six pack of beer, some fancy microbrewery stuff. They shrugged at each other, and bought all of it while Ross talked to someone about the merits of various sea creatures packed in ice.

Sips snacked on a croissant from the newest bakery cart, while Ross bought loaves of fresh bread. Trott shifted the bag of wine and beer from one arm to another. Silently, Sips offered him a piece of croissant, and Trott took it with a nod. He watched Ross pick out something green from one of the farmer’s stalls, chatting animatedly with an older woman in a blue dress. She pointed off to another shop, and Ross nodded.

Trott and Sips followed him, still munching on the croissant, while Ross perused the selection at the pasta maker. There were ribbons of fettuccine in cream, black, and orange hanging up to dry, and stacks of carefully coiled pasta waiting in small packets on the counter. He added some basil fettucine to his bag, the pasta faintly tinted green from the herb. Peering into his stuffed grocery bag, Ross was pleased with his purchases. Trott’s hand was warm on his back, pressing gently against the harness strap between his shoulders. They slipped out for the walk home, and Sips lit a cigarette, shaking a battered cheap lighter until it managed a tiny flame. Weaving through the busy sidewalks, Sips and Trott pestered Ross about what he intended to cook for dinner. At every corner, waiting to cross the street, Trott tapped his fingers on Ross’ hip. Sips watched the cars on the street, sunglasses shading his eyes, taking quick drags off his cigarette as they walked. A lone black bird soared high over their heads, it’s cry lost in the sound of traffic.

 

* * *

Ross set his bag of groceries down carefully on the table, and slung his hoodie over the back of chair. Trott tugged at Ross’ shirt, pulling it over his head so he could make sure the straps of his harness were still settled properly. Satisfied that everything was in place, he handed Ross his apron, and went to put the beers in the fridge. Sips hunted through a drawer for the corkscrew. Ross pulled off his boots, and kicked them under the table. He tapped his feet on the tile floor, enjoying the sensation. Sips yanked the cork free with a grunt, and set the wine on the kitchen table.

Trott hopped up to sit in his favorite spot on the counter beside the fridge. Popping the caps off the beer bottles, he handed one to Sips. Ross carefully washed the vegetables and began preparing them. He cut the fennel and the lemon into thin slices, and popped out the seeds with the tip of his knife.  He was taking more time than usual, making the effort to do the prep work he so often skipped. As he roughly chopped the fennel fronds, he half listened to Sips and Trott talk. The press of the leather at his shoulders and hips, as well as the feeling of the plug, was more comforting than erotic at the moment.

“Smith, he wants the fight,” Trott said. “It’s all about the physicality of it for him, the struggle, the pain of it. The fucking.”

“And him?” Sips lifted his chin in Ross’ direction. Ross sliced the end off a bulb of garlic and doused it with olive oil. He quickly wrapped it in foil and chucked it into the oven. Peeling a few cloves from another bulb, Ross cut them into slightly uneven slices.

“Lot harder to to hurt stone,” Trott admitted. “You can, don’t get me wrong and there’s a certain amount of that to what we do at times. But he wants the sense of belonging to something, of submitting himself to someone else.” Trott watched Ross for a moment. When Ross paused to rinse the knife off in the sink, Trott beckoned him over. Ross leaned against the counter beside him, eyes closed as Trott rubbed his fingers over Ross’ horns. The way they spoke about him made him feel included without actually having to contribute to the conversation. It was hard for him to articulate sometimes, these things. Ross knew well enough what he liked. But why, or explaining it, that was difficult. Trott handed him the beer, and Ross took a long swallow.

“The magic to make a gargoyle,” Trott mused, “is inherently based around this idea of devotion and service. Without the church, where does he direct that? Where does that impulse go?” He watched Ross, a thoughtful look on his face.

“The people he loves,” Sips guessed, taking a drink of his beer. “A court, a family, something like that.” Ross set the bottle down on the counter. Trott gave him a gentle push, and he set to slicing up the squid in long, careful ribbons. The knife flashed in the light, rocking against the cutting board.

“Smith’s blood bond was a good first step, but it wasn’t enough. I probably shouldn’t have waited so long to do it, but…” Trott sighed, crossing his arms. He hadn’t wanted Ross to feel chained. But he hadn’t counted on how much Ross needed an anchor, how very different they were. Ross touched his knee gently in passing, managing to put a surprising amount of affection in it. Trott smiled, something very soft in his eyes.

Heating his battered frying pan on the stove, Ross watched the oil bead across the surface. He shooed Sips away from the stove with his tail as he put the squid in the pan. The sizzle and spatter filled the air.

“That smells surprisingly good,” Sips commented. Slightly incredulous, Ross looked at him.

“Squid is delicious,” he declared. “Haven’t you had it before?”

“Maybe?” Sips shrugged. “Probably fried to hell calamari somewhere.”

“You can’t over cook it,” Ross said, stirring it around in the pan to check the sear. “It gets too chewy.” The pieces curled up in the pan, shrinking in the heat and growing more opaque. He flipped it onto a plate and set that aside.  Ross dumped the rest of the squid in the pan and watched it for a couple minutes.

“Weird enough that you cook it at all,” Trott said.

“I don’t think Sips would like it raw.” Ross hadn’t found a way yet that he didn’t like it, but then his tastes in food were broad compared to everyone else.

“Did you grow up not cooking anything?” Sips furrowed his brow.

“Underwater, mate.” Trott rolled his eyes. “Fire isn’t really our thing.”

“Right, whatever.” Sips waved dismissively, and took a drink. “You have all kinds of magic, you can’t tell me someone can’t be bothered to figure out how to cook underwater with it.”

Trott laughed and clinked his bottle against Sips’ Ross took the squid off the heat and set it aside. Then he opened up the oven to grab the garlic, and squeezed the roasted cloves out into a bowl of butter chunks. The smell was rich and strong, filling up the kitchen. He smashed them together with a fork, along with some salt and pepper. Spreading the garlic butter into the big loaf of bread, Ross wrapped it all in some foil before sticking it into the warm oven.

Licking the butter off his fingers, Ross gathered up the package of fresh noodles. They were powdery with flour, soft in his hands. He dropped the pasta in the water, stirring the noodles with one finger.

“I am never going to get over seeing you do stuff like that,” Sips said, staring at the pot of boiling water.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Ross assured him. “This isn’t hot enough to harm me, see?” He lifted a pan without using a mitt. Sips just sighed and gestured at the pot.

“Don’t over cook the noodles,” he warned. “Four minutes, tops.” Ross nodded, keeping half an eye on the pan of fennel slowly cooking. He sprinkled in some of the lemon slices with the garlic and red pepper flakes. The smell of roasted garlic mixed with the lemon and fennel. Trott’s stomach rumbled.

Quickly, Ross dumped the pasta into the colander in the sink. He poured just a bit of the pasta water in with the fennel and then mixed in the pasta. It steamed, bubbling and hissing in the hot pan. Then he dropped the squid into the pan as well, stirring it all in circles.

Trott slid off counter and tossed his beer bottle in the trash. He pulled out some plates and silverware. Sips grabbed some glasses, and poured some of the malbec he’d picked up in the market. It smelled dark and fruity.

While the pasta finished, Ross combined the fennel fronds with the rest of the lemon and all the parsley, tossing it with some olive oil. He forked out pasta onto their plates, topping it with the little salad of lemon and fennel. He liked the bright citrus and green smell of it, sharp over the warm pasta.

“Smith’s missing dinner,” Ross commented as he pulled the garlic bread out of the oven.

“He’s alright,” Trott said, watching Ross cut the bread into big slices. “Don’t worry about him, he’s probably eating french fries on the river walk right now.”

“French fries,” Sips snorted. “More like French tourist.” Trott rolled his eyes at Sips.

Ross nodded, his expression unconvinced. Trott tugged on the leather strap across his back. Ross straightened unconsciously at the touch.

“He’ll be home later sunshine, we’ll leave him some garlic bread.”

Trott carried his plate to the table, and Ross set the bread in the center of the table. After folding his apron over the back of a chair, Ross settled down on the floor between them. Sips handed him a glass, the wine so red it was almost black.

“You know you can sit at the table,” Sips commented, watching Ross.

“I could,” Ross said. “But the chairs creak. This is fine, really.”

“Cheers.” Sips clinked his glass against Ross’. Trott forked up a piece of squid wrapped in a strand of fettucine and popped it in his mouth. He moaned around the mouthful of food, expression blissful. Blindly he reached out to squeeze Ross’ bare shoulder.

“Goddamn, this is good,” he mumbled as he chewed.

“Thanks.” Ross grinned, radiating delight. He crunched into the big piece of garlic bread, the crust crumbling into the buttery, garlic filled softness of the interior.

Sips poked at the squid before lifting it to his mouth. He chewed, his expression carefully neutral under Ross’ gaze. Finally he swallowed.

“That’s pretty tasty,” he said, twirling the fettucine around his fork. “Way better than I expected.”

Pleased, Ross picked up his fork. He stabbed a slice of fennel.

“The first time I made it, it was pretty terrible,” Ross admitted. Trott snorted around a mouthful of food.

“I didn’t even know you could cook it into rubber,” Trott laughed. “It didn’t resemble actual food.”

“It was very, very chewy.” Ross stabbed a piece of squid, and tasted it. “This is a lot better than last time.”

 

* * *

The sink was full of dishes, but he could worry about that later. Ross set the last of the forks in a careful pile, and wrapped up the remains of the garlic bread. He leaned against the counter for a moment, lost in thought. He rubbed one hand against the strap of the harness around his hip, where his jeans had ridden low.

“Come here, sunshine.” Trott returned to the kitchen, his hands full of leather. Ross turned off the tap, the dishes half rinsed.

“How are you?” Trott asked, touching Ross’ face.

“Alright. I should remember that one, it was good. I’ll make it again.”

“You’ve done very well today, with dinner. And you look so lovely like this.” Trott ran a hand down Ross’ side, over his hip.

Ross closed his eyes, warmed by the praise.

“I got you something else, turn round for me.”

Ross shuffled around to face the sink. Trott pulled Ross’ arms behind his back, and Ross clasped his hands together. Trott began to attach the leather straps to his arms. They were linked by other straps in the center, binding his arms behind his back. It was a more complicated arrangement than the usual arm binders they had in the shop, but Trott liked the look of it. He had an idea that Ross would enjoy the fuss, the time it would take him to get each strap in place, the warmth of Trott’s hands on his arms.

Meticulously, Trott tightened each of the four loops on his arms, adjusting the leather straps and fastening the buckles. With every adjustment, he restrained Ross a little more. He looped a last piece of leather around the uppermost straps where they stretched between Ross’ arms, and fastened the piece to the shoulder harness strap across his back. It was meant to loop onto a collar, but he was still a little shy of actually putting a collar on Ross. It was one thing to play rough with Smith and the bridle bit, but a collar felt like too much. He didn’t want Ross to confuse their games with how he actually felt. Trott didn’t want to own anyone. It was part of why he was here, and not in the sea.

“Good?” Trott tugged at his arm. Ross opened his eyes. He flexed his hands, feeling the leather close and tight around him.

“I like it,” Ross whispered. “That feels very new.” He rolled his shoulders back, enjoying the sensation of the straps all over. They felt settling, soothing. The way Trott looked at him, that mix of pride and pleasure, certainly helped the warm glow inside him.  

Sips balanced an ashtray on his knee, watching Ross sink down to his knees and sit on the floor between them.

“Tell me if you want a drink or anything,” Trott said, his voice soft. He ran his hand through Ross’ hair. They were settled in the living room with the rest of the wine. He leaned his head against Trott’s leg. Sips tapped his cigarette, the ashes falling in a neat clump.

“You’re smoking more than usual,” Trott observed as he refilled their glasses.

“They aren’t the only ones who can be a bit on edge,” Sips said. “Are you going to lecture me about it?”

“No.” Trott shrugged. “The king does what he will.”

Sips smirked a little, taking another drag off his cigarette.

“Anyways, I’m not the one running wild in the city,” Sips continued. He gestured towards Ross. “Not like our favorite bat wielding wrecking machine here. How many windows you bust out this week, eh?”

Ross grimaced, shifting a little in his place. He glanced up at Trott, watching him with a quiet and serious expression.

“I don’t keep count, number one. Number two, it was really only that one night…”

“Bullshit,” Sips drawled. “I see the paper at the diner. Headlines about the rash of vandals in the city, spring fever. You’ve been busy.”

“Well,” Ross frowned. “A lot, I guess.”

“You and Smith have been reckless lately,” Trott began. Ross sighed, and hung his head.

“I know.”

“Chin up,” Trott commanded, and Ross lifted his head. There was a shade of reluctance in his expression now, but he obeyed without a fight. Sips was fascinated by how differently Ross responded to Trott, compared to Smith’s showy defiance.

“I know what’s eating Smith,” Trott continued, watching Ross. “I want to know what’s eating you.”

Ross almost looked away again. He tried to focus on Trott’s brown eyes, their darkness welcoming.

“I’ll hurt you, if that’s what you want to get off. But I won’t punish you because you’re hating yourself for things you couldn’t control.” He knew, what was at the core of it. But he wanted to give Ross the chance to say it.

“I know,” Ross repeated, his voice resigned. “I know Trott, I really do. I just keep thinking about what Xephos said, and I-”

“Stop,” Trott interrupted. his fingers cupped under Ross’ jaw, his thumb rubbing Ross’ jaw. “You have to let that go, sunshine. It hurts and it is terrible. But you can’t keep prodding that wound, or it won’t heal.”

Sips observed Ross closely, fascinated by how young he seemed at that particular moment. The vulnerable look in his eyes was startling on some level, when he thought about hold old Ross was and how capable he was of taking care of things. Sips found himself thinking about his father, about the angry, bitter words they exchanged when he decided to start running around with the Czerny boys, and the disappointment in his face when Sips decided not to go to the local community college like his father hoped. Some things stuck with you, he thought, much longer than you wanted. He’d heard a little from Trott about Xephos. Sips knew enough from the past year to realize how much it would hurt Ross, being turned away from a home he’d felt welcome in.

“You’re right,” agreed Ross, his voice soft.

“Will is not your responsibility,” Trott said, his voice firm. “I want you to say it.”

“Will is not my responsibility,” Ross dutifully repeated.

“And Xephos doesn’t know you like we know you.” Trott slid his fingers under the strap at Ross’ shoulder, pulling him closer.

“You can’t listen to that guy, Ross,” Sips said, grinding his cigarette out in the ashtray. “Trott’s right. That guy, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about it when it comes to you. I mean, come on!”

Ross blinked, focusing on Sips with his bright eyes. Sips considered him, the long muscled lines of Ross’ shoulders and arms. A guy who could probably take both of them apart without breaking a sweat, and he didn’t struggle at all when Trott tied him up. It was fascinating, a little strange but entirely interesting. Sips was pretty sure he could die happily, having seen so much of what hid underneath the ordinary world.

He knew what went down had a lot to do with him. It didn’t get much more obvious than someone sending guys to try to kill you. The witch girl at the party had good hustle, but he’d seen just enough of what happened to the guys who came at him. He’d certainly seen Ross covered in blood and coldly furious afterwards. Sips knew he owed his continued existence in part to Ross’ willingness to go to the mat for him, and that was a sobering realization. He tried to remember if he’d thanked Ross, that night. Not that they really did thanks, the way the fae were about deals and debts and things. But he couldn’t remember what he’d said or done.

“You always look out for me,” Sips continued. “There’s no one I’d rather have at my back in a fight. No offense, Trott.”

Trott rolled his eyes. Not that Trott couldn’t hold his own, Sips knew. He wouldn’t bet against any of them in a fight. A lot of things would have gone very differently in his twenties if they’d been buddies back home.

“Thank you,” Sips said, very carefully. Trott watched him, his eyes sharp and intent on Sips. Ross shook his head, a faint look of dismay on his face.

“No, you don’t-” This time Sips interrupted him, raising one hand.

“I know, I know.” He leaned forward, putting his hand on Ross’ shoulder. “But I know you did what you did for me, even if it caused you a hell of a lot of trouble. I want you to know I know that.”

Ross closed his eyes. His skin was cool under Sips’ fingers, irresistibly smooth.

“Besides, one day you’re going to want to get back at Smiffy for something, and a favor might come in handy.”

Ross laughed, caught off guard. Sips grinned with him, and leaned back into the sofa. He took his wine glass from the bend of his knee.

Trott reached over for the bottle, and poured a generous amount into Sips’ glass.

“To the king,” he toasted.

Ross closed his eyes and let himself just drift on the content feeling. Sips and Trott were talking, but he stopped paying attention to the actual words. He rested his head against Trott’s leg, just enjoying the sensation of being bound, being full. It made him feel a little drowsy. Ross absently rubbed his cheek against the top of Trott’s boot, and sighed happily when Trott ruffled his hair. He felt like he could stay here for ages, listening to the rise and fall of their voices.

“That can’t be comfortable,” Sips said, leaning over to look at Ross.

“Totally comfortable,” Ross murmured. He blinked, opening his eyes slowly to focus on Sips.

“If you say so.” Sips’ expression was skeptical. Ross twined his tail around Sips’ ankles, loose and affectionate.

“I don’t think he really has to worry about his circulation the way you do,” Trott said. He ran a hand up Ross’ neck, into his hair. Another thing he had that seemed sort of strange, if you thought about it too hard. Trott was going to sit down and figure out exactly what the deal with his magic was one day, when he had the spare time. Which would probably have past the next decade, the way things were going.

“But he’s got blood, sort of, doesn’t he?”

“Sort of covers a lot of things.” Trott raised his eyebrows. “He can bleed. It’s kind of like blood? I don’t even really know, to be honest, how exactly that works.”

“Fucking weird, all of you,” Sips sighed. He picked up the ashtray, and set it on the table along with the crumpled cigarette pack.

“I mean, you do fuck a guy who is also a horse, so… this is not even the weirdest thing.” Trott raised one hand, making a skeptical face as if he didn’t quite understand Sips’ bafflement.

“My mother would be so disappointed me.”

“For fucking guys, or for fucking horses?”

Sips snorted, and toasted Trott with his glass.

The faint ghost of smoke hung in the air, mixing with the smell of garlic bread and the fainter smell of red wine. The top of Trott’s boot pressed into his cheek, the leather still new and stiff. Ross shifted his legs, curling up a little. The movement shifted the plug inside him, the low key feeling of desire humming in the back of his mind. Ross wished he’d gotten Trott to take his jeans off before they sat down. But maybe that was just part of the game, something else to endure. From time to time, he felt Trott’s hand on his head. Relaxed and grounded by the touch, Ross dozed again.

 

* * *

“Stand up for me, sunshine.” Trott’s voice brought him back, and Ross he shook himself into wakefulness. He brought his feet back underneath himself and rose, loosening his tail from Sips to keep his balance. Trott unfastened his fly, tugging his jeans down his legs. When Trott touched him briefly, something in Ross thrilled to the contact. It was hard to stop the little noise in his throat. Trott met his gaze, his lips quirking into a smile. He ran his fingers over the ring around Ross’ cock, enjoying the way he tried not to push his hips into the touch, and failed. Ross hissed, shoulders tensing against the restraints. Trott stood up, his hands barely touching Ross’ ribs.

“What will you do with him?” Sips asked. He leaned his head on one hand.

“What should I do?” Trott put one finger on the line of Ross’ throat, drawing it down to his bare chest. He turned half towards Sips. “Do you want to help me?”

“When would I ever turn down the chance?” Sips said, his voice quiet and amused. He watched the slow swing of Ross’ tail, gaze drifting up over Ross’ hips and the leather straps of the harness. Sips considered the hours he’d been wearing it without a word of complaint. The light gleamed off Ross’ skin, bright on the blue glass of his cock.

“Well, bedroom then.” Trott put one hand on Ross’ arm. Sips clambered off the sofa, leaving his half empty wine glass behind as he followed them.

“You want me to undo these?” asked Trott, one hand resting on the buckle at Ross’ waist.

“Depends on what you want to do to me.”

“I want to know what you want,” Trott said pointedly, slipping his fingers under the strap of the shoulder harness. Ross breathed out, feeling himself respond to Trott’s touch.

“Well.” Ross licked his lips. The slow, background hum of desire flared into life. Behind him, he felt Sips press into him, skin and cotton and the rough feel of new denim. Every place they touched sparked new jolts of yearning, a restlessness that made Ross shift on his feet.

“What would you like us to do to you?” Sips asked in a voice roughened by cigarettes and wine. He wrapped his arms around Ross’ waist. Ross uncurled his fingers, letting them brush over the front of Sips’ jeans.

“Blow job?” he asked, his voice playful as he looked at Trott. His tail swung around to bump Trott’s legs.

“That, I can do.” Sips nudged Ross to sit on the bed. “Should we untie you from all this?”

“Leave it,” Ross begged, his breath catching as Sips stroked two fingers along the length of his cock.

“Alright, sunshine.” Trott knelt on the bed beside him, the leather of his boots creaking. He kissed Ross, nipping at the line of his jaw as he smoothed his hands down Ross’ arms.

“Oh god,” Ross whispered, his voice going hoarse and quiet. He opened his eyes to look down. Sips licked the length of Ross’ cock, his tongue sliding over the cool ridges of glass. He whimpered at the soft press of tongue and lips on him.

With one hand wrapped around the base of Ross’ cock, Sips licked him from the tip to the metal ring still flush against his skin. He paused and leaned back, making Ross whimper again.

“Hold still, will you, I don’t want to break my teeth on your dick.” He looked up, the corner of his mouth turned up in a smile. Ross stared at him for a second before nodding with a short laugh. It turned into a long moan as Sips took him into his mouth.

Trott tugged at the strap between Ross’ shoulders, and the tightening of the leather kept him from slipping away entirely. He gasped, letting his head fall back and his eyes close. Sips’ mouth was hot around him, moving up and down his cock. Ross dug his toes into the carpet, trying to hold his hips still even though he wanted to push into Sips’ mouth.

“Fuck, Sips,” he breathed. “That feels so good.” Ross shuddered, his hands twisting in the restraints as Sips went down on him.

Trott kissed the side of Ross’ neck, soft and gentle. His arms were around Ross’ chest, holding him tightly. Ross’ fingers stretched, trying to find some contact with Trott as he shifted on the bed.

Beside him, Trott held him up, pressing kisses into his hair and around his horns. Twisting his tail back Ross wrapped it around Trott, his grip just a little too tight. Dizzy with the sensations, the slow burn ache of the plug inside him combined with Sips and Trott touching him. He moaned, a soft litany of curses. Sips lifted his head, squeezing his hand up over the head of Ross’ cock.

“What the hell kind of church are you from, anyways?” he panted, staring at Ross with a mixture of lust and awe. Trott rubbed his face into Ross’ hair, running his hands over his shoulders and down his chest. He eyed Sips, watching Ross tremble with every stroke.

“He’s always had a filthy mouth,” Trott murmured, a grin flickering over his face.

“Fuck, it’s pretty hot.” Sips licked Ross’ cock, tongue curling round the bumps along the underside. With his hands resting on Ross’ thighs, Sips pushed himself until his nose nearly brushed Ross’ stomach and the glittering glass flecks there. The glass warmed under his touch, slick with his saliva. It was a strange feeling in his mouth, surprisingly heavy and and solid, a deep, barely translucent blue.

Trott spread his fingers over Ross’ throat, holding his head back.

“Make some noise for him, sunshine,” demanded Trott.

“Hah, fuck, Trott, you know I-” Ross moaned, the sound deep with longing. “God, Sips, please don’t stop whatever you’re- fuck, fuck that’s so good, I-I oh fuck me yes, yes, yes…”

“That’s it,” Trott encouraged, flicking his eyes down to where Sips was enthusiastically sucking Ross off. One of his hands pressed up between Ross’ legs, pushing at the base of the plug inside him.

“Oh fuck please that’s so goddamn good, Sips,” Ross continued. “I just, fuck I… yes, that!” He trembled with the effort to keep himself in place. The pleasure of whatever Sips was doing with his hand and his mouth at the same time obliterated most of his thoughts.

“Sips, oh my god-” Ross’ voice deepened, his words blurring together. “Please...

“Come for him, Ross, show him you appreciate all that hard work.” Trott pulled on the straps of the harness.

“Fuck, fucking, oh fuck,” Ross groaned. He shivered, the icy hot pleasure licking up through his groin, up his spine into his head. The surge and release of magic made him jerk involuntarily, his body straining against the straps around him. Trott tightened his grip, holding him steady. Sips slowed his movements, sitting back on his heels. He touched his lips, a thoughtful expression on his face.

Trott tilted his head, and wondered if strictly speaking it was healthy for Sips to swallow all that magic. Sips caught his eye and just grinned. Trott put the thought from his mind as Sips pushed to his feet.

“Fuck I’m old, my knees hurt,” Sips chuckled. He stroked Ross’ blissful face. “How’d I do?”

“Glorious,” Ross sighed. He tipped forward, his horns catching on Sips’ shirt. Sips cradled Ross’ head with one arm, watching Trott unbuckle the straps with deft fingers.

Once they’d unfastened Ross from all his bindings, and Trott gently removed the plug, Ross crawled further onto the bed. He collapsed into the pillows with a huff. Trott handed the mess of harnesses and straps to Sips, who dumped it all carefully on top of the dresser.

“You’re getting more like Smith every day,” Trott whispered, a smile tugging at his mouth. Ross blinked, raising his head with a puzzled look. “He always wants to fall asleep right after, too, that lazy git.”

“Sorry,” Ross yawned. “I can-” Trott shook his head.

“No, I’m just teasing you.” Trott pushed him back down into the bed, climbing half on top of him. “If I want anything, I’ll just get Sips to suck me off. Apparently he’s great at that.”

“Damn right I am,” Sips said, his voice muffled as he pulled his shirt over his head.

Ross blinked again, and reached out to wrap an arm around Trott.

“Thank you,” he murmured, putting his face against Trott’s hip.

“You can always ask for it, you know.” Trott traced the curve of his horns. “I want you to, if you need something. You don’t have to wait for someone to notice.”

“Okay,” Ross nodded.

“We’re here for each other,” Trott said, his voice soft. “We take care of each other, right? So tell us when something’s too much, or something needs doing.”

“I will,” promised Ross. He kissed the line of skin where Trott’s shirt pulled free from his jeans.

“You want anything to drink?” Sips asked. He stood at the foot of the bed in his boxers, absently scratching his stomach. Ross shook his head.

“Help me take my boots off, sunshine.” Trott stretched his legs out, and Ross rolled over enough to help tug the zippers down.

 

* * *

 

 

While he was staring into the fridge, the lock on the front door rattled. Sips glanced over his shoulder, listening to the thump of the door, and the sound of Smith’s boots scuffing the floor.

“Hey Smiffy,” Sips called. “You’re just in time for the cuddling. Oh, and Ross left you some garlic bread in case you didn’t get enough to eat. You missed a great dinner though.”

“Mmm.” Smith leaned into Sips, flushed with that self satisfied, sated attitude he got after a good night.  “How was your evening?” His fingers moved over the waistband of Sips’ boxers, casually playing with the elastic.

“Good.” Sips half turned, a beer in one hand. “Tell me something, Smiffy, what does it taste like to you when you blow Ross?”

“What does it taste like?” Smith looked puzzled. “I don’t know-”

“I can’t figure out what that taste is,” Sips muttered. “It’s making me nuts.”

“Are you blowing Ross now?”

“Well, I didn’t see you around, so...” Sips popped the cap off his beer.

Smith rolled his eyes, peeling away to strip off his jacket. He tossed it it over a kitchen chair. Stretching lazily, arms over his head as he ambled down the hall, Smith hummed under his breath.

Sips followed the trail of scattered clothes back to the bedroom, just in time to see Smith throw himself down beside Ross on the bed. He curled up against Ross’ back, nuzzling him with some quiet greeting. Trott laughed, and reached over Ross to take Smith’s hand. Ross’ tail caught the light, twining around Smith’s leg. Sips leaned against the door frame, trying to think of a name for the feeling twisting around inside him as he looked at them.

They seemed to hear him thinking, all three looking at him in that uncanny synchronicity they sometimes had. Smith held out a hand towards him, and Sips walked into the room without hesitation.

* * *

“Hey buddy, how’s it going?”

Xephos looked up from his lunch, trying to place the voice. He narrowed his eyes at the sight of the man with his laconic smile, trying to place the face.

“Sorry, do I know you?” Xephos wiped his hands with a napkin.

“Course you do, Xephos, though I don’t think we’ve ever eaten at the same table. I’ve eaten a lot of your coffee cake, though.”

“Sips,” Xephos said, the connection fizzing in his brain. He frowned, glancing around for the rest of the Garbage Court. There were students from the university scattered around the quad, but no sign of any of the fae.

“The one and only.” He settled across the picnic table from Xephos, putting down his styrofoam cup of soda and folding his arms. In his hoodie and cap, he just looked like one of those lifer students who never seemed to graduate while they collected credit hours and degree plans.

“What do you want?” asked Xephos, a little brusque as he picked up his sandwich. As far as he could tell Sips was alone.

“Just out, enjoying the day.” Sips shrugged, looking around. He pulled the plastic lid off the soda, discarding the straw to drink straight from the cup. “Pretty nice place. Good food trucks. Thought I would just walk around, take a look.”

Chewing slowly, Xephos made a noncommittal noise. His natural suspicion rattled in his head. There was nothing overtly threatening about Sips, sitting there. But the entire thing was weird, even by his standards of weird. He glared at the drink lid that sat on the table, rattling in the breeze.

“What the hell kind of name is Sips, anyway?” Xephos took a long drink from his thermos of tea, wondering what made him ask other than a pointless desire to be rude.

“Doesn’t sound nearly as weird as Xephos.”

“Xephos is a family name,” he said defensively.

“Still sounds ridiculous, like you made up some kind of wizard name while you were listening to Led Zeppelin albums in your bedroom.” Sips rolled his eyes, flicking one finger against the brim of his hat.

“Your name is a verb, and not even a very exciting one!” Without realizing, Xephos leaned forward on the table, and pointed a finger at Sips. “I refuse to believe that was the name your mother called you.”

“You’re right, it’s not.” Sips shrugged.

“What is your name then?” challenged Xephos.

“That’s pretty forward, isn’t it?” Sips laughed. “Dangerous in this city, letting people know your name.”

Xephos chuckled, amused and irritated at the same time. He wondered how Sips managed to get under his skin so quickly. His appeal for the Garbage Court was much more obvious now. The man had an easy charm, one that must captivate the strange, manipulative fae who crowned him and then refused to kill him. Xephos marvelled a little, at a man so reckless as to live right in the heart of them, and at such constant risk.

“Why are you here, really?” Xephos asked again. His hostility melted away. He had a million questions in his mind now, things he wanted to ask to feed his curiosity.

“Sometimes you just want to talk, no agenda. Just two guys, hanging out, shooting the breeze.”

“I’ve got a bridge to sell you then if you believe that’s what we are doing,” Xephos said in a dry voice. But he held out his packet of potato chips to Sips.  

“Okay, so I do have something to talk you about.” Sips took a couple potato chips, and popped one in his mouth. “We should talk about Ross, really.”

Xephos stilled, the mirth at this ludicrous situation leaving his face.

“Look, I know what went down wasn’t anything you wanted your kid to be involved in-” began Sips, gesturing so the ice sloshed in his drink.

“He’s my nephew,” Xephos corrected, his voice veering into an uncomfortable, priggish tone. Xephos swallowed, and considered just getting up to leave. Sips waved his hand, unconcerned by the detail.

“Whatever, family, I get that.” There was a gleam of sincerity in his eyes, and Xephos wondered how much of him was facade, and what was real. Sips caught his skeptical glance. “No, I really do. Family was everything where I grew up. My brothers and sisters, my sister’s kids, I would have done anything to protect them.”

“What about Will, then?” Xephos held his thermos in both hands.

“It’s not so much him I want to talk about,” Sips admitted. “Though he’s part of it. But we need to talk about how things are between you and Ross.”

With a sigh, Xephos half turned away. Ross was still a sore subject for him. Honeydew pointedly didn’t bring it up, along with a lot of other things he pointedly didn’t bring up. But the subject of Will and the Garbage Court was a tense one, especially now that Will spent far more time in the greenhouse than he did at home. There were so many half finished sentences, and things left unspoken.

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Xephos tried to make his voice crisp and even, the way he did when he talked to people he didn’t actually want to talk with.

“Actually, there’s plenty to talk about.” Sips took a drink of his soda. “Like how you’re putting all the blame on Ross when there’s plenty of other people involved in this situation.”

“Who are you to lecture me on how-”

“I’m the fucking king of my court, that’s who.” Sips put one hand flat on the table between them, hitting the wood with a solid thump. “I look out for my people.”

“ _Your_ people,” Xephos scoffed.

“Yeah, _my_ people.” Sips mocked his intonation. “Look, your kid made just as many dumb choices as mine did, when we get down to it. This whole thing's a mess.”

“None of this would have happened-”

“You can believe that all you want, but you know that’s not true.”

Xephos sighed. Angry, weary, and very reluctant to admit Sips had a point, he rubbed at his face.

“Look, I really didn’t come here to fight.”

“Sure,” Xephos said, a sardonic smile crossing his face.

“I don’t think you understand, about Ross.” It was Sips’ turn to sigh, a heavy sound. “That guy, he’s more loyal than anyone I’ve ever seen. He took what you said to heart, Xephos. Which I think maybe you were angry, and you wanted to say something that hurt, maybe something more than you meant to say. But he believed every word of it, and I’ve watched him mope around thinking he’s the worst thing in this city for weeks now. When you know the real problem is that weird asshole living in the greenhouse, pulling strings on the city.”

Sips watched Xephos rub a hand over his face. He knew he’d struck a nerve somewhere in there, and he wanted to press his advantage.

“Sometimes you say a thing, and you can’t take it back. I know how it goes.”

“It’s just-” Xephos raised his hands, a gesture full of helpless frustration. He didn’t even know what he wanted to say.

“Believe me, I get it.” Sips looked at the university students scattered around the wide expanse of lawn, sitting on the benches or under trees or sprawled out in the midday sun. “You remember how it is though, thinking you’ve got everything figured out and no one can tell you different. Or thinking you’re doing the right thing, when maybe it isn’t.”

“Certainty is wasted on the young.” There were many things Xephos probably would do differently, if he had the chance. Such as letting Will wander around alone in the city.

“I did a lot of stupid shit, when I was your nephew’s age.” Sips tapped the cup, rattling the slush of ice cubes and soda. “Why I’m here, if we’re honest about it. My dad, he’d say it was because I started running around with some guys who were pure trouble.”

Across the table, Xephos drank the last of his tea as he listened.

“Really it was just me trying so hard to be a man,” Sips continued. He smiled, something rueful about it. “Not having any fucking clue that I was doing things as wrong as you could. But too proud and thinking I was smarter than I was, getting in over my head.”

“What does he think now?” asked Xephos. He tried hard to imagine Sips as someone with a father.

“I haven’t seen my family in more than ten years now. We said a lot of things, the last time we spoke, and there’s things I’d take back if I could. But I’m not going to get that chance.” Sips stared at Xephos, who shifted uncomfortably.

“Look, I’m not saying you have to forgive him right away. But it would go a long way with me, if you could consider it. You help me out with my boy, I could help you out with yours.”

Sips watched him steadily, his eyes cool and assessing. He turned the cup a quarter turn, the styrofoam scraping against the weathered wood of the table.

“I don’t make deals with the fae,” Xephos said with a little wrinkle of his nose. He screwed the cap back on his thermos, looking away.

“I’m not fae,” Sips shrugged. “Genuine 100% human being. Which is probably more than I could say about you, honestly.”

Xephos turned pink, a little shocked.

“Now that is rude,” he murmured in a very quiet voice. He’d misjudged something badly, it seemed. But whether that was Sips, or the Garbage Court entirely, he didn’t know. Either way, Xephos felt a little frisson of nervous shock.

“But true,” Sips said, confidently certain he’d hit the mark. Xephos didn’t reply, folding up the napkin from his lunch and sweeping crumbs off the table. Sips wondered how far back in the blood you had to go to find whatever magical thing got involved. It couldn’t be too far. There was no way this guy was human. He would bet a lot on that.

“I’m not going to make deals about family,” Xephos said. Sips smiled behind his drink, rolling an ice cube around his tongue.

“I didn’t think so. But I’m not talking these witchy fae deals. I’m talking about taking sides with your community, which includes a lot of human beings, because it seems to me we all have a clear problem.”

“I haven’t lived this long here by taking sides.” Xephos raised an eyebrow.

“Things change.” Sips and Xephos stared at each other, each of them trying to assess just how serious the other might be. At the far end of the quad, the clock tower bell tolled a mournful note. Xephos stuffed his thermos into his satchel.

“I need to be going, as pleasant as this… whatever, is.” Rising from his seat, Xephos straightened his jacket and brushed away the crumbs.

“You ever eaten at that falafel cart?” Sips’ question caught him off guard, and Xephos paused.

“It’s pretty good.” Xephos wondered why he said it even as the words left his lips. He was quite certain there was no real enchantment to the king of the Garbage Court.

“See you round, Xephos. We’ll have some falafel next time.” Sips flicked the brim of his cap, enjoying the consternation that flashed in Xephos’ eyes. He pushed up from the table, taking the half finished soda on a slow stroll across the grass. Xephos watched him walk away without looking back. He hurried off to his office, turning the conversation over in his thoughts.

 

* * *

Two days later, Sips and Ross walked through one of the parks closer to the center of the city. Sips had discovered some new food truck, and wanted Ross to try it. It was warm and beautiful outside, the air bright with the smell of new grass and flowers mixed into the city’s car exhaust, trash, and concrete. Ross ate the last of his takoyaki, licking the sauce from his fingers as Sips tugged him towards a row of benches beside the field where a handful of people played frisbee. A family set up a picnic with a couple small children under a tree. An enormous white dog watched them curiously, ears tall and pointed. It sat beside a tall woman wrangling a folding table and a large bag.

“Hey, Zozo.” Sips greeted the woman with a nod. She pulled her wild, bright red hair back into a messy pony tail and waved.

“Sips, hi! So good to see you! What are you doing out with all the common people?” Zoey laughed, the sound bright and cheerful.

“Just being a regular guy today, you know.”

“Well, so nice you’re slumming with us.” She unpacked a stack of fliers onto her folding table. “Can I talk you into helping me out?”

“Actually that is why I’m here.”

Zoey looked up in surprise. The dozens of tiny bells on her belt jingled as she shifted from foot to foot.

“Really?”

“Not me,” Sips clarified. “But I thought maybe…” He broke off with a laugh. Zoey followed his gaze to where Ross knelt on the ground with Zoey’s dog. It was huge, easily able to look him in the eye. Wagging it’s long tail, the dog licked Ross’ hand.

“Ross,” Sips called out. He tossed a tennis ball from Zoey’s table towards him. “Go play with the dog, will you?”

“Sure,” Ross agreed easily. The dog watched the ball in his hand, tail wagging excitedly. Ross threw it, and the dog bounded off with a bark. Ross jogged after the dog.

“Well that was easy.” Sips laughed, and settled on the bench beside Zoey’s table. “See, I was thinking you could use some help down at the shelter.”

“We always need help,” Zoey said. She looked at Sips carefully, her eyes shrewd. “But it’s hard to find volunteers and you know I’m not going to take a favor...”

“Look, I’m not trying to put one over on you here.”

“What do you want then?”

“This solves problems for both of us.” Sips scratched at his forehead, under the brim of his cap. “You need help at the shelter, and Ross needs to do something that-” Sips paused, considering his words. “He needs to take care of someone who will appreciate it.”

“I thought taking care of you was pretty much a full time job,” said Zoey, a sly look on her face.

“Eh, I can give him some time off.” Sips watched Ross, racing with the dog across the park. The dog had the ball, and Ross chased it in zig zags over the grass. Zoey shaded her eyes against the sun, watching them run. Ross tumbled into the grass, and the dog barked gleefully. It ran in circles around him.

“I don’t know,” Zoey sighed, settling down beside Sips on the bench. She bumped the table, and Sips grabbed it to keep the whole thing from crashing down. He carefully straightened and locked one of the folding legs.

“No favors, no debts, nothing to worry about,” Sips replied easily. “You need someone to walk the dogs and clean up, I need something for Ross to do that makes him happy.”

“I’ll think about it,” Zoey said, a trace of wariness still in her voice. Sips gave her an affable smile. Most of the Garbage Court crowd wasn’t human, but Zoey was entirely, refreshingly mortal. He liked her.

Zoey handed a flier to a couple peering at her display, chatting away with them about dogs and pet deposits. She had quite a gift for putting people at ease, a cheerful demeanour that disarmed ordinary people. Zoey seemed too principled to use magic to home her stray and abandoned dogs though. Sips respected the earnest effort she put into her day job running the animal shelter.

The facade of rainbows and crystals and environmental protests signs made people write her off as a small time witch, too sweet to be trouble. Sips had seen her though, cursing some rich dude in a fancy SUV who crashed into one of her friends on a bike and drove off while the girl writhed in the street with a broken leg. She hadn’t been wrathful, just eerily calm. She didn’t think about it again, or construct elaborate plots for revenge. Zoey lived in the moment, and Sips appreciated that. He made sure Smith trashed the guy’s other cars, once they figured out who he was. He didn’t let Smith eat him though. There was no telling what Zoey’s curse was going to do, and it was probably better to let that run its natural course.

* * *

 

Smith parked his car directly underneath the “No Parking At Any Time” sign. In the passenger seat, Trott scrolled through the messages on his cell phone. The setting sun cast brilliant gold streaks through the windshield, the light falling over Trott and gilding his hair. Smith stared at him for a moment before he switched the car off.

“What?” Trott asked when Smith didn’t move, his voice distracted.

“You look really nice in your boots,” Smith murmured, his eyes flicking to Trott’s face, and then away. Trott glanced at him sideways, a smile tugging at his lips. He thumbed the screen off, and tucked the phone away.

“Glad you like them, sunshine.” Impulsively, he slid across the center console, and crowded into Smith’s lap. Smith wrapped his arms around Trott, hugging him close with a little more force than necessary. Trott combed his fingers through Smith’s hair.

“Sips is waiting,” he said when Smith showed no sign of letting him go.

“Fine.” Smith pressed his lips to the spot just under Trott’s ear, his fingers drawing aimless patterns on Trott’s leg. “Just. You know… about the other day, I... ”

“I know,” Trott said. “Anytime, Smith. Always.”

Teeth grazed his neck and Trott shivered at the touch when Smith kissed him. He slid off Smith’s lap and out of the car, his heart beating a little faster. The surge of affection he felt for the way Smith was so terrible at saying anything made his chest feel tight. Trott waited for Smith to lock the car, scuffing his boots on the sidewalk.

Spinning his keys on a finger, Smith wrapped his arm around Trott’s shoulders. He was so much more relaxed, that hard and angry edge of the past few weeks gone from his voice. Trott tucked his hand in Smith’s back pocket as they walked into the park. The moment reminded him of their early days, just the two of them. He squeezed Smith, smiling at his indignant snort. They ambled through the park along one of the little paths lined with benches and the occasional water fountain. There were a fair number of people about. Joggers trotted down the paths, most of them with headphones firmly in their ears. Several kids stood on the edge of a fountain, shrieking and pointing into the water. Out in the center of the field, a couple boys were tossing a frisbee back and forth.

“Look at Ross,” Smith said, his voice rich with amusement. He pointed, and Trott followed the gesture across the wide expanse of pale green grass.

“His tail is wagging just as much as the dog’s,” Trott laughed. He waved at Sips’ raised hand. Reluctantly, he slipped out from under Smith’s arm.

“Who’s your new pal?” Smith asked, sprawling in the grass beside Ross. The dog looked at him curiously, and growled low in its throat at the smell of Smith.

“This is Cabal,” Ross said. “Cabal, meet Smith. He’s a friend.” The dog chuffed skeptically, before sniffing Smith’s hand.

“Are you a talking dog?” Smith asked, wondering. Cabal stared at him.

“Hard enough to get someone to adopt a regular dog, much less a talking dog,” Zoey pointed out. “Most people would find that a little weird.” She crouched down in the grass, petting Cabal.

“You never know,” Smith said, shrugging.

“So, he really seems to like you,” she said to Ross. “Maybe you’d like to come down to the shelter some afternoon, help me walk the dogs and get them some exercise? They really need to play more, to get comfortable with people so we can find them homes but there’s never enough time for everyone.”

“Really?” Ross looked at her, expression delighted. “You want me to come play with the dogs?”

“And also help me sweep out the runs, and feed them, and all the less fun chores,” Zoey pointed out as she clipped a leash on Cabal’s collar.

“But I’d also get to play with all the dogs.” Ross tossed her the tennis ball. Cabal eyed it, but didn’t move to snatch it from her hand.

“Well, yes.” She stood up. “It’s just a volunteer thing, there’s no money but-”

“Don’t care,” Ross interrupted, a touch too eagerly. “When?”

“I’m there Tuesday to Saturday.” She fumbled in her backpack, and pulled out one of the fliers. “The address is on here.”

“Great!” Ross beamed. He reached over to scratch Cabal behind the ears. “See you, Cabal.” The dog woofed quietly, and licked him. Smith watched the entire exchange with bemusement.

“I’m going to visit all the dogs,” Ross said, turning to Smith with a grin. Smith laughed and rolled Ross over in the grass.

“See you around, Zozo.” Sips nodded to her. “You need any help carrying your stuff?”

“I’m good,” she said, waving him off. “We walked here, it isn’t far and the table is pretty small.” Sips grinned as she neatly avoided accepting any help. It was a bit of a game with the two of them, always elaborate courtesy, and avoiding any obligations.

“Always nice to see you, Zoey.” Trott settled on the bench beside Sips. He inclined his head.

“Always nice to see you guys when you’re feeling friendly,” she replied, a quick grin as she hefted her bag over her shoulders. Zoey adjusted her shirt, and untangled her hair from the back of her necklace, the little crystal points shining with reflected sunlight.

“Which, if you’re not feeling especially bloodthirsty,” she continued. “We’re doing a Beltane thing at Barton Springs if you’d like to attend. I’m trying to get all the witches in the city, even Xephos, out for it. Should be a lot of fun.”

“No blood?” Trott’s lips quirked. Zoey’s parties were not as grimy as Garbage Court parties, but witches were a hard drinking lot.

“Well, no. Flowers, not blood. But a lot of wine, and dancing, and kissing.” She raised her eyebrows. “That’s almost kind of your thing.”

“That is true, I do like all of that.” Trott nodded. “I’ll put it on my calendar.”

“Great!” Zoey beamed. “I’ve got to run, gotta get dinner on for everyone back at the shelter. Bye!” She tugged at Cabal’s leash, and headed off in a swirl of bells.

“I like her,” Sips said, stretching his arms across the back of the bench.

“She is very clever,” Trott said softly. “Pretty powerful for a human, a good person to have on your side.” He looked at Sips, who just smiled enigmatically.

“Trott, did you know Zoey needs someone to help her walk all the dogs at the shelter?” Ross twined stray dandelions into a chain that Zoey had shown him how to make. She’d had numerous little flowers tucked into her hair, and Ross marveled at how easy it was to imitate.

“Really now?” Trott gave Sips another look, a more searching one this time. Sips’ eyes were closed, his face tipped into the last of the setting sun. Trott wanted to poke him in the ribs, startle him out of that perfect poker face.

“I think I might go, some days, if you don’t need me to do anything…”

“That sounds like something you’d enjoy, sunshine. You should do it.” Trott looked down at Ross, watching him carefully tuck flowers into Smith’s hair. Ross’ tail caught the light, flashes of blue and gold. Smith was on his back, one foot balanced on the other knee, and his head pillowed on Ross’ lap. He ran his fingers along the curve of Ross’ tail, his eyes bright green like the grass, and full of sleepy contentment.

Sitting back against the bench, Trott looked sideways at Sips. He elbowed him, not very gently.

“You’re too smart for your own fucking good,” he whispered, under the faint sounds of birds, traffic, and the other people in the park.

“You sound like my mother,” Sips whispered back. He frowned, eyes still closed. “Not going to lie, that’s a little weird.”

Trott shook his head. He felt Sips’ arm move so it rested across the back of his shoulders. The warmth of him felt good, and Trott let himself relax. This might be the happiest he’d felt all year, Trott thought. He tried not to let himself get too far ahead of his plans, but he had a good feeling right now that things were going their way.

“What do you want to do for dinner?” he asked eventually, when the last rays of sunlight moved off Sips’ face.

“A nice family dinner somewhere.” Sips opened his eyes, blinking at the twilight shadows. “Let’s go eat at the diner on 5th.”

 

* * *

Crammed into one of the booths, Smith still wore stray flowers in his hair. Ross’ tail curled around their feet, tangling everyone up under the table. He was mostly finished with a huge plate of french toast drowning in maple syrup and powdered sugar, while Smith ate a burger and fries. He licked his fingers, staring at Trott suggestively, who just rolled his eyes as he tucked into his own fries. Beside him, Sips sawed into an enormous pork chop with a side of whipped potatoes and mounds of peppery gravy. A little pile of green beans peaked out from the gravy. Trott snuck one off his plate, curious about the taste, which ended up being mostly black pepper.

“How come you get to steal food, and I don’t?” Smith grumbled, pointing at him with a fry. He picked up his burger, crammed with homemade pickles and bacon.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Trott said blandly, swallowing the green bean.

“I’ll trade you a piece of toast for some fries, Smith,” Ross offered, licking his fork.  

“Can I just dip my fries in the syrup?”

Sips put down his knife, a speculative look on his face.

“That’s a really good idea, Smiffy. Give me a maple syrup fry.” Sips leaned forward, reaching over to grab a french fry from Smith’s plate.

“Steal Trott’s fries, he’s not even eating them!”

“I am too.” Trott crammed a few french fries into his mouth.

“What kind of milkshake should I get?” Ross mused, picking up the menu tucked between his plate and the window. “Chocolate peanut butter? Chocolate cherry? Coconut cream? Maple?”

“Are you still hungry, after all that food?” Trott shook his head. “You are a bottomless pit.”

“I’ll share it with you,” Ross said, raising his eyebrows.

“Chocolate peanut butter then.” Trott took another bite of his sandwich, enjoying the contrast of the sweet bun, and the crisp crunch of the fried chicken. It dripped with remoulade, shreds of cabbage, and slices of green tomatoes. Smith dipped another couple fries into the syrup on Ross’ plate, swirling them about. Across the table, Sips leaned back with a contented sigh, and patted his stomach. He swirled the ice in his glass, watching the others dip fries in the syrup coating Ross’ plate. This, Sips thought, was all he wanted.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Pack Mentality](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4830110) by [AmethystUnarmed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmethystUnarmed/pseuds/AmethystUnarmed)




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